Fool's Dance
by cerulean.inferno
Summary: A young Silencer experiences much grief when he discovers his master, Lucien, has been killed by the Black Hand. But he has yet to discover that nothing it what it seems...
1. The Murder of the Traitor

**Author's Note:** Yes, an Oblivion fanfic. I haven't written anything in quite a long time, and I figured that since I enjoy Oblivion's Dark Brotherhood so much, and rather disliked its end, why not create an alternate ending? I thought the way the Dark Brotherhood came to a halt to fast and so easily was quite dissatisfying, after such a colourful questline. So this is my interpretation of what might happen, mainly if Lucien had lived. Enjoy! :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Oblivion, The Elder Scrolls Series, or any of the characters involved (excepting my Player Character, Ysuran). Oblivion © Bethesda Softworks. 'Fool's Dance' © me.

* * *

Bypassing Arquen and her Black Hand cronies was pathetically easy. The man in robes basked in his triumph, smug at nature, as he strode along the woody path from Applewatch to Bruma's East Gate. He didn't like the way he had to go about his success, but sacrifices were things he'd gotten used to making... There was nothing he could do about it, he thought. What's done is done.

Now, he knew how he'd deal with the rest of the Black Hand. Their impudence would surely not go ignored.

He suspected he was about halfway there. He was about to call for Shadowmere, but remembered that he'd given her up to that Silencer of his. A strange one, him – Ysuran was his name. A Dark Elf, too. My, did he ever show promise! The rate at which he advanced in the Brotherhood was decidedly staggering. A Silencer in less than a month...yes, he was certainly special.

The man brought a bottle of Cyrodilic brandy to his lips, enjoying the crispness and warmth of both the evening and the brandy. At that moment, he wondered what exactly had become of Ysuran. He was sure he'd gone to Applewatch; he saw him enter the place. But that, of course, had been his cue to leave. He almost felt sorry that he'd left him there by himself, but the robed man was sure that his Silencer could deal with them accordingly...he only hoped that he hadn't killed the poor sods. Yet.

But as the dark-haired man downed the last of his brandy, he realized that he had forgotten something. Something very important. He cursed under his breath several times, threw down the empty bottle, and made utmost haste to Bruma.

* * *

The young Dunmer trudged up the path that led to Applewatch farms in an unusually excited manner, eager to hear of Lucien's plans. They would definitely uncover the identity of the traitor!, he said to himself. He smirked, pulled back his hood, and opened the door...

'Ah! The lucky Silencer has arrived,' said a fairly tall Altmer woman as he entered the farm, puzzled; what were other family members doing here? And where was Lucien?

'Don't worry, child, we are all of the Black Hand. I am Arquen,' she said, 'and the traitor has been eliminated. The Brotherhood is finally rid of his treachery.'

He nearly took comfort in her words, but not until he saw the battered corpse hanging from the ceiling.

'By Sithis!- Who is?...' he exclaimed, fearing the worst. The body would otherwise be unrecognisable due to the horrid mutilations, but Ysuran could tell. Upon closer inspection of the body, or rather, the body it once was, he could only confirm that it was Lucien. But not Lucien. Now it was a mere corpse. He felt his Dunmeri eyes turning a dangerous shade of red, disbelieving. It couldn't be true. It shouldn't be true. But he knew it was, and it was their mistake.

Their error. They'd pay dearly. Ysuran was in a state of shock for a moment, clenching his jaw, trying to will the sight away...but he looked directly at Arquen and lost it.

'What in Tamriel do you think you've done?' he yelled. 'Eliminated the traitor? You've murdered the very core of the Dark Brotherhood, you idiots! Lucien did nothing...nothing to betray us...how could you be so- so arrogant? Damn! I can't believe...you _brainless_, hopeless...impulsive fools!' He felt a strong urge to turn his blade on the woman, but decided against it. They may have been Tenet breakers, but he wasn't.

The Black Hand merely scowled at his outburst, except Arquen, who gave him a pitying look.

'I know it's hard for you to accept this, friend, but...he _was_ the trai-'

'Traitor my mudcrab!', he retorted. 'Lucien had served Sithis with nothing but loyalty in mind! There is absolutely no way he could have been the traitor! He tried to stop me... from killing Ungolim...'

'Dear brother, is that doubt I see in your eyes?', said another Dark Elf, smiling. 'If Lucien was not the traitor, care to tell us who is?'

He didn't have an answer. He could have given them proof that it was someone else, would have loved to see the looks on their faces... yet with all this proof he had, he could only establish Lucien's innocence. But the real traitor was still unknown. All he knew was that it had to be one of the people in that room...or more. Perhaps all of them. Despite what he knew, Lucien was still dead. Nothing else seemed to matter at that point. Ysuran's patience was dwindling with every second.

_You're all scum,_ he thought. _One day, you'll die the way he did, and cursed by Sithis if I don't send you to your graves myself..._

'I didn't think you could tell us,' said a tall brown-haired Breton, who seemed particularly loathesome.

Ysuran made a point of giving each one of them a glare, so as to instill in them his sense of certainty. It didn't seem to work, though. Arquen was still smiling that idiotic smile of hers.

'Well...the truth will reveal itself to you sooner or later,' she said doubtfully. 'But for now, we should concentrate on the task at hand. You are aware of the Lucky Old Lady in Bravil, yes?' Ysuran glared at her. '...Yes, I think you are. Well...those in Bravil don't know how lucky they really are. You see, that statue is the embodiment of the Night Mother herself, and her crypt lies below it. We must go there at once to speak to-'

'Oh, shut up, you insipid hag,' he finally spat. There was a flare in her eyes. 'I'll go nowhere with you! The Night Mother would never want to see you after breaking three of the Tenets!'

Arquen seemed taken aback. 'I have broken no Tenet!', she denied. 'What would a mere Silencer know about the Night Mother? And I am no _hag_, you insolent little...'

'Fine. Think what you want. But I'm not going to go along with people who betray the Brotherhood!' He put his hood back on. 'You will feel Sithis' wrath for being so careless in your judgement. And don't come bothering me when you find that you've become ghosts because the real traitor has slain you all!'

And he left without another word.

Once outside, he automatically knew where he had to go. It was only a matter of time before Arquen and the others got there first, but luckily for him, Shadowmere was on his side.

He quickly mounted her saddle and galloped down the path, gradually disappearing into the shadows.

* * *

No sooner did Arquen breathe did she go into a cacophony of rage.

'I cannot believe him! Who in Tamriel does he think he is? Hypocrite!–- tells me I broke a tenet, when he just broke one himself! How dare he disobey his superior! I will make stuffing out of his _brain_! I-'

'Sister,' the Dunmer interrupted, 'calm yourself. I'm sure he will learn his lesson in due time. He is a valuable member of the family; killing him would only give us another replacement to recruit.'

She scowled viciously, showing her true colours.

'Very well. But if he pulls another one of these atrocities with me, there is no guarantee I'll keep my blade sheathed.'

They stood there in silence for a moment, not quite knowing what to do.

'Should we not follow him, sister?', the Breton asked.

'No. Leave him be, Mathieu. For now, our main concern is making sure the Brotherhood is re-established. I will see the Night Mother and ask her if I might take charge of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary - Mathieu, you and Belisarius will recruit new members. Banus, you stay here and keep watch, just in case that fool returns.'

'Yes, Arquen.'

She took any valuable items she could find in the farmhouse, like potions, food, and weapons. The others followed her out, one by one, and before he knew it, Banus was alone. He glanced warily at Lucien before reaching for the rope that hung him from the ceiling and loosening it. He felt that his body should at least be unrestrained after death. He sat down on the floor and sighed happily.

At last. Free of the company of that dreadful Altmer beast. In truth, he hated Arquen. He had the feeling everyone hated her, especially Ysuran, judging by the looks he'd given her and the way he spoke to her. Then again, he probably hated Banus, too...he wasn't any less involved in Lucien's murder than she was.

Regardless, he was still on Ysuran's side, because deep within his soul he knew that Lucien was not culpable. In fact, he rather liked Lucien - he suspected that Arquen was the real traitor... her bossiness, her explosive personality, her two-facedness... all typical traits for someone that would want to take complete charge of the Dark Brotherhood. He also thought she had a grudge of sorts against Dark Elves, but that was another issue altogether...

Just then, he noticed an odd faltering light in the corner of his eye. It was coming from Lucien's corpse. He crawled over to inspect the body, and noticed the contours of the face wavering. A soft green glow encompassed the cadaver, and it seemed to be morphing into something, or someone else. Very suddenly, the entire body took a different form; the legs got longer, the face became gaunt, the body appeared slightly more plump and the mutilations were less obvious. It took a little while for Banus to realize that this was the work of Illusion magic, used to cover up one's identity.

Meaning whoever they killed wasn't Lucien LaChance.

* * *

He knew there was little time before they discovered he was still alive.

He had to visit the Night Mother, and fast. After much running, he finally reached Bruma's East Gate, and from there, made his way to the Wildeye Stables. When he discovered they only sold paint horses, he walked back to the gate in frustration. Damned if he was going to walk all the way to Bravil; he stole a healthy-looking bay horse from one of the guards.

They could chase him if they wanted. But he was Lucien LaChance. He always evaded capture.


	2. An Uncanny Encounter

**Author's Note:** Yay for chapter two. FFFF this one took a bit long. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Oblivion.

* * *

Banus remained sitting on the floor, lips pursed, not knowing at all what to do about Lucien's impostor. Questions coursed rapidly throughout his mind. Who would have taken Lucien's place like that? Why would he –or she, it was difficult to tell- have put himself in such danger? Moreover, who exactly had they really killed? Was Ysuran only acting earlier in order to save his master? But his rage seemed so real, so passionate... the details all eluded him.  
_Damn it all, _he thought, nothing_ is going as planned! _His face creased into a disapproving grimace.

He searched every crevice of his mind to find a solution to this strange turn of events. He could have gone chasing after his allies to tell them of this occurrence, that Lucien was still alive somewhere... but he didn't really want to. He was so tired of following Arquen's orders, so sick of furthering her own personal agendas. Always doing things her way!  
And all this time, he'd been wanting to do things for _himself_. When he first joined the Brotherhood seven years ago, he truly felt at home - everyone was so kind to him. But overtime, of course, he got promoted to Slayer, Eliminator, Assassin... and finally, a Speaker. Then things changed. He lost touch with his other family members, since Arquen insisted that there was 'much work to be done, and no time for idle chatter'. That's when he began to hate being a part of the family - but no more. As of that moment, he would leave the Dark Brotherhood. Sithis preserve his soul, but he would not continue to be a member of an unstable organization. It was no longer what it once was.  
Ysuran seemed to be the only respectable member left, and Banus had nobody else to turn to. Besides, he needed an ally he could truly depend on.

He rounded up all his belongings, save his copy of The Five Tenets, which he left atop the chest of drawers in the middle of the room. Wouldn't be needing that. He kept his hood and robe, though - they were the only items he possessed that preserved any trace of identity left of him. He made his way out of the farmhouse, and began to follow the horse tracks, hoping that whatever outcome awaited him was in his favour.

* * *

The speedy, rhythmic clip-clop-clip of Shadowmere's hooves were soothing to Ysuran - which was surprising, since not too long ago he wanted to tear apart everything in sight. He felt like every tree needed to be uprooted, every creature slain, every blade of grass torn into trillions upon trillions of shreds of confetti...never before had he felt this way.  
_Butchered like nothing, _he mourned to himself. _As if he could have been the least important person in the world...why didn't he defend himself? Why did he desert me?  
_Ysuran was an emotional person, and never let anyone know so. But in his loneliness, he let his cool tears run freely along his temples, blown backwards by the force of the wind. He used one hand to dab at his blurred eyes, but the salty droplets kept coming. He let them come. He needed to let himself cry this time.

Shadowmere seemed to know what Ysuran was thinking; she could feel his anger and grief. Very suddenly, she whinnied to a violent halt, and collapsed onto the dirt road, hind legs somewhat askew. The poor rider was thrust backwards a good few feet, and landed very roughly on his back.

'You ridiculous mare, what did you do that fo...' he trailed off, noticing the apparent severity of his horse's condition.

'Oh, by the grace of Dibella, please be all right,' he fretted, dreading the thought of Arquen getting to Bravil first. He carefully eased her right hind leg onto his lap, and firmly squeezed a few areas to determine which spot was hurt. Just his luck; she neighed when he reached the hock. It seemed to be damaged badly, so no way was Shadowmere going to be able to run anytime soon.

'Gods be damned!', he yelled. 'This is the bloody pinnacle of worst days! Emperor Septim had a better time during his assassination! What's next? Daedra running amok in the province?... Oh, wait, of course. That's already happening. Silly me!'

Hysterics were getting the better of him, and it didn't help when an annoying-looking page for the Black Horse Courier handed him the latest edition with a smile, and the obligatory 'Black Horse Courier's latest story – take a copy, read all about it!' Ysuran hastily took the page from the courier. It read: 'The End of the Dark Brotherhood?'  
He clenched his teeth and felt his composure slipping again. He crumpled up the ivory page, and threw it at the messenger's head.

'Thanks, but no thanks,' he huffed. The man seemed indifferent towards this abuse.

'Whatever you say, then, sir.' The courier whipped the reins on his horse, prompting it to leave, and in a few seconds he disappeared from Ysuran's sight. Idiots came in all flavours.

He looked onto the darkened horizon dolefully, suddenly wishing he had never killed that very first Imperial Legion guard that ultimately got him into this mess. It was partly out of self defence, mind you, but what did he get for it? An offer to join one of the most notorious band of assassins in all of Tamriel. He had very mixed feelings concerning the matter, because truly, he could not imagine life without the Brotherhood. But he wondered sometimes. What if he'd killed Lucien out of fear when he visited that night? Maybe if he'd never met him, he'd be different... or maybe he'd be the same. It was far too late to find out.

At that point, however, he snapped back to the present, and focused on getting Shadowmere to a hospitality. He imagined the Roxey Inn would be the closest place; he would have to ride another horse for the time being.

'Up you get, you cumbersome burden,' he chided with a light humour. Her red eyes seemed to flash for a moment, but she obliged willingly when he motioned for her to keep pace with him. How he adored that animal.

And so horse and man dragged along side by side, one pained physically and the other mentally, both tainted by dark pasts and darker futures.

* * *

Meanwhile, two men on horseback galloped along winding paths, caught up in a game of cat and mouse.

'Stop right there, criminal scum!', raged the one behind.

'Hah!', the one in front yelled to the other, 'A laughable notion. I stop for no one. You Legion soldiers are all the same!' He laughed softly, yet menacingly.

The guard sneered and readied his bow, simultaneously pulling a silver arrow from his quiver. He aimed for his target's horse, so as to slow him down, but missed by an embarrassingly wide margin. Lucien laughed at his petty attempt.

'If you're going to capture me, do it right,' he taunted.

'You dare speak to your better in such a manner? I should strike you where you stand, you insolent filth!'

Lucien scowled; he did not like that tone. Not at all.

He quickly scanned his surroundings, looking for any passers by. There was no one around other than him and his pursuer. A malevolent smirk played upon his lips. He pulled out two very small but powerful throwing daggers, placed in a hidden pocket stitched into the insides of his robe.

'I'd like to see you better this,' he half-muttered. With incredible vigour, he whipped the two daggers behind him, aiming directly for the open spot between the guard's chin and the top of his cuirass. He did not miss. The guard gradually lost all control over his muscles, and he fell off the startled horse, rolling miserably into a nearby lake. Lucien's smile broadened at this fantastic kill.

He slowed down his bay horse and came to a halt, dismounting and abandoning the animal. The Bruma Guard's horse, he noticed, was in better condition. He cast a simple paralysis spell on the creature, so it wouldn't gallop away, and mounted his new horse. He removed the spell, and continued to race towards Bravil.

He hadn't had this much fun in a long time.

* * *

'Recruiting members,' Belisarius complained, 'is annoying work.' He and Mathieu were making their way to the Imperial City. 'How in Oblivion does Arquen expect us to find so many in so little time?'

Mathieu sighed; Belisarius truly did not understand the gravity of the situation.

'The Brotherhood has never experienced such a downfall in its entire existence,' he explained, 'and without new Murderers, no contracts would be fulfilled. Without any contracts fulfilled, people would stop praying to the Night Mother, and the Brotherhood would be no more. Our end is already a rumour across Cyrodiil-' he held up the latest edition of the Black Horse Courier for Belisarius to see- 'and this does not bode well for us. On top of it all, we have no Listener... so that complicates things further.' His voice was filled with malice, but when Belisarius looked at him he could have sworn he saw an excited glint in his eyes.

'I see...' he said quietly. 'How will we go about finding them, then?'

'Normally, we'd visit the Night Mother, who would tell us who to find and where. She always keeps an eye out for any potential family members. But today, we will use a rather different method,' he replied. Belisarius urged him to go on.

'In the Imperial Legion Offices, within the Prison District, there is a desk containing a list of criminals with bounties. It lists their name, race, offence, and the gold they owe. We will scour this list and choose those we feel would benefit us, and then we approach them. It's quite simple.'

'Ah,' the other man interjected, 'so that's why you've been leading us to the Imperial City.' He chuckled. 'Well, then, let's go.'

Mathieu smiled to himself. _Oh yes, _he thought, _let's._

_

* * *

_

Ysuran had finally reached the inn, where he met Malene, the innkeeper. Fortunately, he was on friendly terms with her, as he had stayed at her inn several times in the past.

'Ah, Ysuran!', she called. 'Haven't seen you around these parts in quite some time! How ya been?'

'Hi there, Malene. Actually, quite terrible as of late,' he replied with a sigh, 'but I didn't come here to talk about me. I wanted to ask a favour of you.' She raised an eyebrow, hoping his 'favour' wasn't too demanding.

'Oh? And what would that be?'

'I need you to take care of my horse for a while. She is injured, and I need to get somewhere. Fast.'

'Define 'a while', and I might consider it. Nursing a horse sounds like something way out of my field, my friend...'

'Oh, come on.' he whined, 'Believe me, Malene, I am in the blackest of moods today and I need to be humoured, so...' he cast a subtle charm spell on her, 'look after her, will you?'  
After thinking it over for a moment, she sighed and finally said:

'I would never do this, I hope you know,' she remarked, 'but anything for you, Sir-Closing-Oblivion-Gates-Left-Right-and-Centre,' she joked. 'Very well, I'll help ya out. Now how 'bout some ale with your good friend Malene, eh?'

Ysuran chuckled. 'I appreciate your kindness, but I really can't stay any longer. Thanks for doing this for me, my friend.'

'Oh, it ain't a problem, Ysuran. But before you go...' He gave her an inquisitive look which turned to an annoyed glare when he noticed her right hand outstretched, signaling payment.

'Hey, the horse won't get better all by itself, you know!', she remarked, noticing the look he gave her. 'If I'll be ordering extra food and medicine, it's coming out of your damn pocket.'

He gave her a sharp _tsk_ and placed a weighty bag in her palm.

'There. Two hundred Septims should cover it,' he said tiredly. 'Now I never expect you to ask me for money ever again. Greedy wench.' He smirked.

Malene looked at him in surprise for a moment, then burst into laughter.

'Well, rip my tongue out and call me Mara!', she joked, 'You must be richer than Tiber Septim himself, throwing around bags of gold like that!'

'Not at all. I just spend my time and money wisely.'

'Heh. Alrighty, whatever that means,' she replied, still laughing. 'But I sure hope you ain't getting yourself into any trouble.'

'Me? No,' he lied.

Ysuran thought Malene had an unusually pleasant manner about her, being a female Nord and all. He enjoyed her company very much; she was one of the few people left alive who could still make him smile...

'Well, now I really have to get going. Damned to Oblivion if I'm not there on time,' he muttered.

'Going on a date or somethin'?', she inquired.

'Hmph. I only wish.' He said his final goodbyes and left.

He noticed it had gotten very late, perhaps one o'clock in the morning. Before setting foot on the road again, he approached his beautiful black mare and stroked the back of her neck.

'Don't worry, girl,' he whispered, 'I'll come back for you soon enough.' She shook her head about and neighed in reply.

He couldn't spot any other horses nearby, and cursed; he didn't want to stall any longer. He ran east, the direction that he'd originally been traveling, but he felt drained now that he was alone with nothing but his own haunting thoughts. Images of Lucien's horridly beaten corpse filled his mind again, slowing him down and making him feel uneasy. The memory burned into his mind as if it had been carved there – jaw torn from his skull, creating a monstrous hole where his constantly smirking lips once were. Every strand of ebony hair burned away, leaving the cadaver even more undignified than before. Skin pasty and rotting...eyeballs violently bruised and bloodshot...private area severed...  
Ysuran could take no more. He knelt over a nearby bush and vomited right into it, his left hand grabbing onto a thick tree branch.

'Urg...!'

After a good minute or two, he could feel no more of the dreadful bile in his throat. He regained his wits and dragged himself back on the road, where he in turn felt vulnerable and lost.  
_O cruel and unjust world, what else do you have in store for me? _He lamented.

The poor Elf could scarcely pick up his feet at this point; so he stayed there, right in the middle of the road, bitter thoughts crossing his mind once again. He didn't know how much more of this grief he could handle. Never before had he known such distress. Warm tears began to make their way along his cheeks, but before Ysuran had a chance to cry, he was knocked forward by an unseen force, causing his delicate lips to collide violently with a jagged stone. He howled in pain, but was forced to stop when a velvety fabric cut into the sides of his mouth.  
_  
Oh, this is damned lovely. Top off my day with a nice kidnapping. And a busted lip. Fucking fantastic.  
_  
He nearly expected a gravelly voice to whisper "100 gold or your life" in his ear, but his violator said absolutely nothing. He soon felt another band cover his eyes, then his ears. The result was a single ski-slope nose protruding from a mass of dark fabric, which, to the kidnapper, looked hilarious. But Ysuran couldn't care less about how he looked; he only felt fear.  
_  
Is this it? Am I going to die?, _he wondered as he felt himself being mounted on a horse.  
_  
No, you're not, _said another man's voice. Ysuran was suddenly very alert – who was that? His ears were covered, so it couldn't be anyone from the outside... was it in his head? Was he going mad?  
_  
'Do not fret,' _it said, _'I am merely using telepathy. You're not going mad.' _Ysuran settled down a little, but remained cautious. So it was the kidnapper, then.

'_Who are you?', _he asked, _'and what business do you have taking me like this?'_

_'More than you would know,' _came the reply, _'and who I am is of no importance to you. Now do not interrogate me further, churl.'_ A sour grimace formed on Ysuran's face.  
_  
'I would think I am in my right to know! Kidnapping is a criminal offence!...' _The other scoffed._  
_

_'Don't talk to me about crime,' _the man spat. _'Because from what I understand you have done things ten times worse than a mere 'kidnapping',' _he taunted, _'a hundredfold.'_

The Dunmer's breath faltered. Who could this be?  
_  
'Oh, by Kynareth,'_ he whispered, _'are you a Legion Soldier? You want to imprison me?'_

_'Kynareth, eh?...No, I am not. Now shut up or I just might throw you off by _accident,' threatened the voice.

Ysuran wondered for a moment; what was so strange about Kynareth? The thought only lasted for a second, though, and both Ysuran's thoughts and his voice remained dormant thereon. But overtime, he felt much better than he had earlier. Yes, Lucien was still gone, but at least now there was _someone _with him. And truly, he didn't think he wished him any harm, despite his bitter disposition towards him...and his incessant rudeness...

A slight drowsiness overcame the Dunmer, and in moments, fell asleep, resting his head on the mysterious man's back as they began riding south.


	3. Troubling Turns

**Author's Note:** gfffgyg this one took far too long. I kept fussing over everything for some reason... o: Anyway, enjoy guys!  
**EDIT:** added the dream scene!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Oblivion. It belongs to the awesome Bethesda Softworks.

* * *

'Useless creature.'

Arquen scowled at the uncooperative horse, eyes mirroring Oblivion itself. She was quite punctual and took her duties very seriously, so she did not like others stalling her. This was the worst time to be delayed - after a couple hours of journeying, the horse had grown too tired to continue, and slumped down beside a tree, both unwilling and unable to move. After several attempts to restore its fatigue, Arquen gave up on the horse and abandoned it, leaving it to fend for itself.

_As long as it isn't mine, I don't care what happens to the thing, _she thought bitterly.

She wasn't very aware of her whereabouts, but imagined that she was somewhere Northwest of the Imperial City. At this rate, she thought, she would reach Bravil in around six hours – but when she came across an inn a few minutes later, the Altmer couldn't help but succumb to her tiredness. It would slow down her journey, but she needed some rest, especially after such a vigorous assassination...

A smiling male Dunmer greeted her when she entered the Aleswell Inn.

'Welcome to Aleswell, friend! What can I do for you?', he chimed.

'Greetings. I'd like to purchase a bed for the night.'

'Ah, certainly, certainly! That'd be fifteen gold, please. First door on the left.'

Arquen obliged and thanked him for the room. It wasn't the best-looking place, but it would definitely suffice.

Remaining in her robes, she slid underneath the covers, sighing happily, appreciating the warmth the fabric provided. In moments she'd fallen asleep, but a strange dream tinged her subconscious. She saw some sort of portal in the center of a large plain, very menacing and seemingly never-ending... a young Elf, it seemed, was caught in it. One half of his body was consumed by the horrid blackness, and the other half, his torso, flailed about. There were people who gathered 'round the portal, staring at him, and he was clearly begging them for help. _Help_, he said, _I am divided_. But none of them moved a muscle. Their emotions didn't even show. They all seemed... blank, somehow. The whole vision was extremely lucid, but the people didn't even seem like people, and she could not put names to any of the faces, either. Like they were barely even there...

...But then she realized it was because nobody had any faces.

Everyone - man, woman and child - had blank, marble-textured faces. There was no eyes, no nose, and no mouth on any of them. Just voids within a void... empty entities, mocking the humanity that the Elf displayed, pitying his ability to feel, when the Void was so much better, they thought. Of course, they could not voice these ideas. The Void would prevent them. The Void is all and all is the Void...they chanted this, but they did not chant it verbally. They could not. The resonating echo of their doctrine were as vibrations, coursing through every fiber of being...of non-being... weaving through everything and nothing.

Then they were laughing. All of them. They appeared to be laughing at the Elf... but they were really laughing at her. They faced her then, letting their emptiness pierce her soul.

She tried to ignore the horrible things, turning her back on the whole scene, but behind her was something worse. In a mirror that lay propped on a tree, she saw that she, too, had her features erased. She tried to scream, but the sound was shrill, almost whistle-like, and unbearably loud in her own head. Thousands of other voices made their way into her mind, all repeating that dreadful chant: The Void is all and all is the Void. The Void is all and all is the Void. The Void is all and all is the Void. The Void is all and all is the Void. She spun back around again, the sight of her face sickening to her, only to find that the Elf, too, had succumbed to the Void. His non-eyes stared at her with such an intensity she could not handle. The Void is all and all is the Void. The Void is all and all is the Void. The Void is all and all is the Void.

The Void is all and all is the Void.

Her ears bled, then, and the voices became so abundant that she could hear no more. The non-faces of the non-people consumed her, and left her in the Void. The non-being. The non-sentience.

The non-existence... nothing. And so nothing it was...

She woke up.

Arquen felt at her face with a frantic hand, and indeed, her features remained. The Altmer relaxed a little, although very shaken from this vision, wondering...

_...What does it mean?...What could Sithis be telling me?..._

_It was very interesting, _she thought. _But...the Void...laughing...nothingness...I don't understand...  
_

She yawned, and then decided to go back to sleep, but a strange ghoulish sound haunted her still. She rolled on her side, and she nearly jumped with a shriek.

A horrifying, red-cloaked wraith cowered over her, pure hatred in its eyes. What was a wraith doing here?... She had no more time to think – she grabbed her dagger on the bedside table and attacked, but the ghost was too powerful. He blocked her attack and aimed his weapon at her head, but missed when she rolled off the bedside and under the evil creature, making her way to the door. The innkeeper and two other Dunmer women ran out of their own rooms and stared in fear as she hurried out the front door, the wraith following her. It suddenly hit her; this could only be the Wrath of Sithis.

_But why?, _she asked. _What have I done to anger our Father? _She put aside any thoughts of why and how. She had to focus on survival.

Her petty dagger was not enough to destroy the spirit, but luckily, Arquen was well-versed in Destruction magic – she was an expert in the art. She stopped in her tracks and faced her enemy.

'Forgive me, my Lord,' she said as she hurled blasts of flame at the spirit, unrelenting. It shrieked with every hit, staggering. However, once it regained its stability, it lurched forward and cut Arquen on her forearm, leaving a deep wound. She cried out and stumbled, clutching her bleeding arm, but managed to muster the last ounce of her strength, summoning a doubly powerful flame. The wraith emitted a murky, green gas from its mouth, and in moments, only its chaff remained. The Altmer picked up the dagger the creature left behind, and it was unmistakably the Dagger of Discipline. She closed her eyes, grateful the terrible encounter was over, trying to will the searing pain away. The three Dunmer then emerged from the Inn, concerned.

'Oh, Gods!...Miss! Miss!', the male Dunmer yelled, running towards her. 'What has happened? Are you harmed?'

'I am,' Arquen replied, 'but it is nothing too serious. It will heal.'

'I'm so sorry, friend. Surely...surely the wraith did not come from these parts- I could not have- I don't even know how it got in! I mean...'

'No need to feel any remorse. This wasn't your fault,' Arquen said. 'It was something I did, I suppose...'

'Don't blame yourself, friend. Who knows why that foul thing attacked? I'm sure it was nothing personal! It could have been any ghost, maybe... but no matter, you need to be hospitalized right away.'

'Oh, no,' she said, 'I think I'll be fine on my own from here. Thank you.' She finally stood, removing her hand from her arm, but the wound was worse than she thought. The air itself seemed to cut into it – she hissed and clutched at it again.

'You must stay with us,' he urged. 'Please.' Arquen took a deep breath and agreed. Her trip would have to wait even longer now.

He and the other two women -his sisters, she had discovered- ushered her back into her room, binding her arm with a long bandage.

'You needn't worry about any creatures, miss. I will watch the door of your room tonight, to make sure none get in.'

'There is no need, my good man. I don't think any more of them will come, truly...'

'As you wish, then,' he replied. 'Sleep well, friend.' He closed the door to her room, and she was alone again.

The Wrath of Sithis...

What did this mean? Had she truly broken a Tenet? But how? Then she thought about what Ysuran said...

_...'Lucien did nothing to betray us'..._

_...'after breaking three of the Tenets'..._

_...'feel Sithis' wrath for being so careless'..._

Could he have been right? Was Lucien innocent? If he was...then Arquen had certainly broken the Tenets. She went over them in her head.

_Tenet One: Never dishonor the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis..._

_Tenet Two...Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis..._

_Three...Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior...To do so is to...invoke the Wrath of Sithis..._

_Four...Tenet Four...Never steal the possessions of...a Dark Brother or Dark Sister...To do so is to invoke the Wrath of...Sithis..._

_Five...Never kill...a Dark Brother or...Dark Sister...To do so...is to...to..._

Her drowsiness suddenly took over, and she fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep. By then, she had forgotten all about her dream...

* * *

A warm, quiet place awaited Ysuran when he woke from his slumber. Where in Tamriel was he? Upon looking about the room, it seemed like he was in a cabin of sorts. It was a single small, fire-lit room, with several crates filled with various trinkets lying about. He tiredly rose from the bed, eyes very groggy, and thought it best to search for any possessions of his. To his relief, he soon found a chest containing his inventory, but noticed that a few items were missing. He frowned, and cringed slightly when the cut on his lip throbbed violently, although the pain had died down considerably since the fall-

The fall. His circumstances suddenly dawned on him.

'Damn,' he muttered with some discomfort, 'I've got to get out of here.'

He hastily collected all the items in the chest and placed them in his rucksack, but kept his dagger ready in case the kidnapper returned.

There were two doors leading out of the house, he noticed. One facing west, and the other, being the main door, facing south. The Dunmer chose the former, deciding it was the least conspicuous of the two.

He threw on his hood and crouched down, stealthy as ever. The many months he'd spent in the Thieves Guild had honed his sneak skills by a million. Without Detect Life, nobody could have guessed he was even there.

But just when he reached for the knob, he realized something; why let this man live after so horribly interfering with his plans? Why escape without exacting vengeance? He revelled in the idea of another kill. So he decided to stay there in the shadows, waiting for his victim to enter the place. He picked a convenient spot, so that either door was at an equal distance. And he waited.

Time seemed to go by incredibly slow after that. It made him fear the worst... had the captor just left him there? Or was he _waiting_ for him to emerge? His question was answered, however, when a hooded figure entered the side door of the house. Ysuran sat still as a statue, alert, making sure he had remained hidden. He confirmed that he was not noticed when the other man sat calmly at a wooden desk, writing something out on parchment.

His back was completely open.

It was the perfect opportunity.

He carefully eased out of his spot, moving so that his robes would not rustle and give him away. A soft Dunmeri hand lay lightly on the hilt of his dagger, ready to attack. With each step his anticipation grew, and when he finally came close enough – close enough to smell his very blood - he unsheathed his weapon and began to strike.

But little did he know that his presence was not unknown. With extreme precision and agility, the stranger turned in his seat and deflected the blow with his own weapon, wrenched the other's out of his hand, then held the two blades at either of the Elf's temples. But the stranger could only laugh when he saw the expression on the poor sod's face.

_What in the..._

'You...'

_...What?..._

Ysuran gaped at the sight he beheld. How was this possible? He didn't know whether to feel delighted, angst-ridden, or simply infuriated. He was even more confused when the Speaker continued laughing.

'Lucien...how in...you...how are you even...' he was at a loss for words. A deep sadness – or was it happiness? - overcame his heart, and slowly, his eyes brimmed with tears. In a matter of seconds, he flung his arms around his master's neck, buried his head into the recess of his shoulder and wept. Lucien jerked and abruptly stopped laughing. He did not expect this kind of behaviour.

'What in Sithis' name are you doing? Get off of me!'

Ysuran ignored him and went on to a tearful, muffled rant.

'Lu...Lucien, I was so bloody terrified, all right? I swear, I...I was damned mortified! If only you – if only you knew-' he sniffed, 'how I felt, you insensitive bastard! Was this a...a joke? Because if it was, it's not funny! It's not, f...funny!... Gods, I should damn well just quit the Brotherhood if I'm to go through this nonsense all the time! I-'

He felt his shoulders being pushed away, and then a sudden sharp _slap _met his cheek.

'Are you even listening to yourself?' he raged. '_Gods?_ Have you not pledged loyalty to Sithis, or am I somehow mistaken? I can't believe how soft you've gone. What feeble mindset has claimed you? How does one go from being an unrelenting assassin to a... a pathetic wreck?'

'Don't be stupid,' Ysuran sniffled, 'I'm not just some heartless killing machine. I've got plenty of feelings. If you knew me at all, you would know that, but nooo, you need to be some antisocial hermit, always wrapped up in the Brotherhood. The _Brotherhood._ And look where that's gotten us!'

Lucien scowled. What had become of his Silencer?, he thought.

'Better an antisocial hermit than a demented, forever premenstrual woman. And never, ever speak to me in such a way again, if you value your tongue.'

Ysuran gave him a cold look, but said nothing else. The Imperial clenched his teeth, clearly bothered.

'Damn...' he said, letting go of his Silencer's shoulders. 'If I'd known you were going to be like this I would have just left you on the road to rot.' Still, the Elf said nothing – Lucien sighed.

'Fine, then. Just nevermind. I apologize, I- You must be terribly confused. I will explain everything to you.'

Ysuran nodded quietly, and took a seat on the bed he'd woken up in, trying to make sense of this ridiculous mess. Then he remembered something.

'Lucien, where is this place? Surely it isn't your home...'

A scoff came from the other.

'Of course it isn't. Sithis knows I have better taste than this,' he exclaimed, using his hand to signal the obvious shoddiness of the place. Ysuran smirked. 'But even so, this could prove to be a useful hideaway. I'm not about to tell you where we are.'

'Oh, why in Oblivion not? I'm your Silencer!'

'Because,' Lucien snapped, 'it's a secret. Secrets apply to everyone, even Silencers. So I'll have none of your complaining.'

'A thousand gold,' the Elf offered. A malevolent chuckle came from his superior.

'I might have accepted, had I not taken all of it already,' he jeered with a grin.

'You did what? Give it back, you arse!', he yelled, giggling slightly. Lucien chuckled along.

'That can be dealt with later, my dear brother,' he said calmly, now that he had regained his usual composure. 'We will get this matter settled first.'

Ysuran huffed, but obeyed his Speaker. He felt that an explanation, however, was the least he deserved.

'When I met up with you after you killed Ungolim in Bravil, and discovered that you were indeed not the traitor, my suspicions immediately turned to Mathieu Bellamont, a Breton of the Black Hand. You probably saw the slimy rat in Applewatch.

'I confirmed these suspicions...' he grabbed a thin notebook from inside a nearby chest, 'by reading this.'

The Dunmer, upon further inspection of the book, realized that it was the traitor's diary. That's what had been missing from his inventory, he noticed. While being relieved that Lucien got the chance to learn of his findings, he didn't much like people rummaging through his things. Or stealing his gold, for that matter. He dismissed the thought and carried on.

'How are you certain it's Bellamont's, though?' he inquired.

'Because the tale the diary contains is...frighteningly similar to that of my very first contract,' the Imperial explained. 'I will tell you the tale.'

'Many years ago, Bellamont's father asked our Unholy Matron to have his wife, Leresa, murdered. He discovered that she had been unfaithful or some such and wanted her dead. So I was called in to do the deed. Mathieu had to have been...oh, seven or eight years old, I imagine, but he was aware of what was happening. I saw him hiding under the bed, unable to watch his mother perish in such a way; but I knew he saw my face as I decapitated the poor wench. I remember I felt...thrilled. And I'm sure he hasn't forgotten that...' he trailed off.

'But...didn't you know that Mathieu was her son this entire time? Same last name and all?'

'No, actually. He must have changed it when he began his initiation into the Brotherhood. The name 'Bellamont' was never mentioned in the contract.

'Anyway, the lines in the journal speak for themselves: 'Father prayed and guess who came-' '

'The hooded man in Sithis' name,' Ysuran finished, finally piecing together the puzzle.

'Right. And then it goes on to: 'But there's someplace I need to start, and that's with father's beating heart'.' He chuckled. 'He certainly lived up to that - the father was found dead later that night, I heard, with his heart torn out of his chest. Cut very accurately, apparently, with nothing more than a scalpel. Not to mention the mother's head was nowhere to be found...'

'Oh,' Ysuran interjected, 'about that, actually...'

'I am aware, Silencer. I found it in your rucksack already. No idea what possessed you to take _that, _but no matter,' he said casually. 'Anyway, it is clear that Mathieu's ill will is completely directed towards me. Hmph. And just because I was doing my job.'

'In all fairness, Lucien,' Ysuran remarked, 'I would want to kill you, too, if you murdered my mother in front of me, regardless of whether or not it was your 'job'.' He smirked. This earned a _tsk_ from Lucien.

'You certainly aren't one to talk. You killed an entire family only a week ago. So shut up,' he snapped. 'Either way, he is the source of all this madness. I am sure of it. If we kill him, this will all be over.'

The Elf exhaled, lips slightly parted in annoyance.

'Fantastic. Now please explain how in Oblivion you're even alive.' The other chuckled.

'Now that,' he said, 'is a longer story.' He propped his elbows on either of his knees and clasped his hands together, a faint grimness on his face.

'Again, the tale begins with my discovering your innocence. Since your dead drops could have only been switched by someone within the Black Hand – ergo, the real traitor, who had undoubtedly been following my every move – I thought that they could very well still be tailing me. But I, guessing the perpetrator's intentions, devised a trap to have them...'kill me'.'

'Alright, give me the abridged version of whatever you're about to tell me,' Ysuran interrupted, 'because it seems like it's going to be complicated.'

'Complicated, no...but drastic, yes,' came the reply.

A momentary silence fell upon the room, but Lucien continued.

'I lied to you when I said I would meet you at Applewatch, knowing that someone – Mathieu, as it were – was eavesdropping on us. As I predicted, after I told you of my plans, he ran off to the main gates, supposedly going to tell the others to wait for me in the farmhouse and kill me there. But I was far ahead of those fools; this is where it gets a bit...questionable.'

'One moment, if you may, but how could you determine the eavesdropper's actions? You were with me the whole time. And how did you plan your strategy so quickly?', Ysuran inquired.

'Detect Life, you hopeless buffoon. How else do you think I sensed you earlier?' The Dunmer blushed at this. 'As for your other question, I'll only say that I have much experience in pressing matters such as this. I know how to think and what to do. Now stop with your interruptions,' he complained. Lucien pushed a stray hair out of his face and resumed.

'After giving you your tasks, I made my way to my younger brother's dwelling west of the Imperial City. I told him all about my predicament – the Black Hand was out to get me under false pretence, and I needed him to help me escape. He thought my plan was extravagant and ruthless, but he agreed anyway, Sithis bless his soul. With the help of Ayleidic Illusion magic, my brother and I were completely indistinguishable. Like carbon copies, we were. He made his way to the farmhouse in my place, while I waited hidden in a nearby ruin, so as to make sure you and the others entered. It went exactly as planned – they were all there, waiting for me, ready to end my life. But none of them even guessed it was my brother. Finally, when I saw you arrive, that was my cue to leave the place and be done with it all.'

Ysuran stared at his master with a slightly puzzled look on his face, not knowing if what he'd heard was correct. He pressed his hand over his mouth and pulled downward at his skin. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and finally spoke.

'Well...I'll be damned,' he said. 'You...you did that? To your own brother? I understand the direness of the situation, but, I mean, that's too evil even for my tastes,' he said disapprovingly.

'I couldn't think of a better way to fake my death. I wasn't happy to do it, either. Let's say he owed me the favour. Anyway, how I go about my affairs is none of your concern.' At this point, Lucien was absentmindedly inspecting his fingernails, growing weary of Ysuran's inquisitiveness.

'Of course it is!' the Elf protested. 'I am your Silencer; or rather, in _your_ words, 'the nail on a finger of the Black Hand'. Doesn't everything you do affect me, and vice versa?', he coaxed.

'Oh, ease off. Don't even try to manipulate me.'

'Ah! Saw right through me...' he replied with a chuckle.

The Imperial frowned and sighed yet again.

'Nevermind. The story isn't over yet, so keep listening.' The Silencer nodded. 'I was about halfway along the road to Bruma, where I was planning on laying low for a while, when I remembered something; something very important, very crucial towards my success. I still can't believe my carelessness,' he said ruefully. 'After working out an ingenious plan, I had forgotten the simplest of things...'

'...Go on,' Ysuran urged, anticipating the development of the story.

'I had forgotten to refresh the Illusion magic before he entered,' he said gravely. 'Without the spell, my brother would have shifted back to his normal self, and he looks very different from me. So the Black Hand is...more than likely aware of my survival. Furthermore, if they do know about it, I appear even more suspect than before.'

'Oh, no,' Ysuran gasped, slightly thankful he had left the farm before witnessing such a thing. 'This is bad. Very bad.'

'You don't say.' A frown creased on either of the men's faces.

'Well, that being said, I believe we are safe from them for now,' said the Dunmer. 'Sithis will watch over us. However, none of your story explains why you felt the need to kidnap me. Or give me a busted lip, for that matter.'

'The lip was unintentional,' he admitted, 'but I told you, I didn't kidnap you! If anything, I saved your life. You're lucky I even found you when I did, because otherwise you would have ended up dead in a ditch somewhere, for all I know.

'I resent that,' Ysuran said with a bit of a laugh. 'But now that you bring it up, how did you find me?'

'Pure chance.', the Imperial replied. 'When I had realized my...error, I knew I couldn't stay in Bruma like I'd planned. Far too risky. I stole a horse from some guard standing outside the city walls, and rode along the Heartland roads. Then I saw Shadowmere cooped up beside the Roxey Inn, badly wounded, and there you were, not too far off in the distance. At least, I assumed it was you. Couldn't be sure, so I approached you in a...more unorthodox way, to avoid any altercations.'

'I suppose that's understandable, but why did you hide your identity? You even altered the sound of your voice when you used telepathy,' said Ysuran.

'Oh, well...I guess I just wanted to mess with you.' The Imperial smirked.

Ysuran smiled at him, once again feeling like his normal self. He was grateful his anguish was short-lived, but somehow felt that it wasn't over yet...

A sharp rapping at the door disturbed his thoughts.

Lucien seemed alert now. He glanced at Ysuran, giving him an 'I'll handle this' kind of look, and signaled for him to hide. He chose the same spot he'd hidden in before and watched as Lucien approached the door, dagger in hand. The knocks seemed to become more and more rapid.

Lucien flung the door open, prepared for an attack, but nothing came.

Instead, a cold, worried-looking Banus Alor met him at the threshold.


	4. Night's Embrace

**Author's Note: **Oh, finally, chapter 4 is here. :B Critiques are strongly requested, for this chapter especially. Again, enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** Oblivion © Bethesda.

* * *

'Banus,' Lucien breathed. 'How did you get here?'

'Lucien, listen,' he said. 'I left the Black Hand. Trust me - I'm not here to kill you.'

Upon hearing these words, Ysuran came out of his hiding place and faced Banus. Could it be true?, he wondered. Or a trap?

'Ha! Left the Black Hand?', Lucien jeered. 'Like I'll believe that. You tracked me down – that is proof enough that you're here to get rid of me.'

'Well, ah,' he said, bashful, 'it appears that way... and you are definitely more suspect now, but please, I swear on my life I'm telling the truth! I'm done with the Brotherhood...I couldn't care less if you were the traitor.'

Lucien raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised at this statement.

'Really, now?' He made a sour face. 'Then you are also a traitor. Get out of my face!' He pushed Banus out the doorway, slammed it shut and locked it.

'Wh...' Ysuran trailed off, confused. 'Wait, wait! What in Oblivion was that all about?'

'He doesn't care who the traitor is, eh? Hmph. That coward, thinks he can leave us whenever it's convenient. No less a traitor than Bellamont.' He didn't heed his Silencer. All the while, Banus was silent outside the house.

'Lucien! Let him in, won't you? He'll go mad out there for all we know,' he pleaded.

'Leave whatever soft spots you have behind, Ysuran,' he said. 'He may not want to kill me, but he dishonours the Brotherhood. We must go.'

'We should give him a chance, at least.'

'No.'

'Please?'

Lucien closed his eyes and grunted. He didn't feel like dealing with this.

'You're very impertinent lately, Silencer. Fine. Do what you will with him - I'm leaving.'

The Dunmer frowned. 'Leaving?'

'Oh, relax,' he grumbled. 'Just...visiting someone. I'll return later.' He left through the side door, mounted his horse, and galloped off to Sithis knows where.

Ysuran was a bit disgruntled. Why was it that Lucien seemed so two-sided? One moment, he would be very pleasant. Patient, even. The next, he'd be fuming and spitting insults. What _was_ that?, he wondered. He waved it off, though, and made his way to the front door.

He opened it and, surely enough, Banus remained, waiting patiently.

'Uh. Hello again,' he said. 'He isn't too angry, I hope?' Ysuran looked at him, smirking slightly.

'He's gone, for now. Don't worry about him. Come in,' he ordered. 'We should talk.' It felt strange, Ysuran thought, commanding his superior...but oddly satisfying. His smile broadened.

Banus nodded and entered the house. He looked a bit shaken for some reason. Ysuran regarded his kinsman with sympathy – Banus' eyes showed little emotion, but they were not the eyes of a liar. Yes, he partially hated Banus for killing – at least, attempting to kill - his master...but he had hope for him. At least, he wanted to.

He settled down onto the floor, where Banus sat across from him. It would be an interesting talk, he imagined.

'So, then...' Ysuran started, 'I'd just like to – ah, establish something.'

'Oh. Go ahead.' Banus folded his hands onto his lap, trying to get comfortable.

'Concerning the traitor. Who do you think it is?' Banus seemed puzzled.

'Well, everything points to Lucien...I would like to believe he isn't, but...I can't imagine anyone else...' he trailed off. He thought of Arquen, and how he had suspected her before, but now he wasn't so sure. He bit the inside of his cheek, thinking.

'Well, he isn't. It's Bellamont.'

Banus' head snapped up in shock.

'_Bellamont_?'

'Yes. Have a look at this.' He tossed the blood-stained diary into Banus' hands, and after he read it, incredulous, Ysuran explained everything – about Mathieu's nightmarish hideaway, about Lucien's first contract, about his plan to escape the Black Hand... Banus felt sick.

'Mathieu!...How could he? All these years, he _lied_ to us? Gods, I- he was like a big brother to me...' he had a hard time finding the right words. He stared at the pages of the diary, unable to believe that Bellamont was the author of the disturbing ramblings.

_when in the snow I like to lie and fold my arms and wait to die..._

'It's all insanity. Pure madness.' The other nodded sadly.

'Yes. He even kept his mother's head- made a shrine out of it. He was sick... is sick.'

'Oh. Oh, that's...' Banus looked like he was about to cry. If there was one thing the two had in common, it was their bouts of emotion.

Ysuran didn't regard Banus as an enemy any longer at this point; he rather felt for him. It seemed that he was good friends with Mathieu – which was unfortunate, seeing as they'd be killing him sooner or later- and Banus bore no ill will towards him or Lucien, he saw that much. He was only doing what he was supposed to. _Just following orders... _Ysuran pondered something then.

'These are the consequences, then...' His eyes appeared very blank, Banus noted.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, of being what we are. Killers.'

Banus stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

'When I joined, I thought there was no downside to being an assassin. Easy money, interesting people. The thrill. But sometimes it's not that simple. It can be so depressing...'

Banus thought Ysuran was being rather odd, but answered accordingly.

'Well, I suppose...at least, I'm not too sure what you mean, Brother...'

'I mean,' he replied, 'the sadness that sets into your soul when you're forced to kill a friend. Have you experienced that? When you have the feeling a Divine other than Sithis is watching you, condemning you, for what you've done. When the ghosts of the fallen taunt you - they scream silently in your ears at night...'

An awkward silence fell upon the room. Banus didn't know what to say.

'I...I might have, but nothing like you described- oh.' He realized then what Ysuran meant, and felt a wash of remorse. 'Are you referring to the...the Purification?'

Ysuran pursed his lips and nodded.

'A prime example...I'd gotten so close to everyone there. Vicente, Ocheeva, Gogron...even M'raaj-Dar. It's just- is it really worth it, you know? The internal struggling?'

Both had become very morose. Banus understood his kinsman's feelings now – he had felt those emotions before. For a long time, a voice in his head told him to leave the Brotherhood for that very reason, to avoid the pain, the evil. He never heeded it, of course.

'I don't know,' he finally replied. 'Maybe. Or... I don't think so. Could be we're just weak at heart, my friend... at least, for assassins.'

'Damn...we're terrible Dunmers,' Ysuran joked, trying to lighten up the mood. Banus laughed, then another awkward silence ensued.

'Listen,' Banus finally said, 'I can only hope you aren't angry with me. You know, about thinking Lucien was...'

'Ah, nevermind that...you had no way of knowing, Banus. It's not as if he's really dead.' Ysuran gave him a genuine smile. The other nodded, grateful for his forgiveness. Ysuran finally resumed the interrogation.

'So, how did you find us? I mean, you didn't come here by accident...'

'Uh, no, that I didn't,' he admitted. 'See, when I discovered Lucien was alive, I figured I could do one of two things: one, tell Arquen about it and stick with the Brotherhood. Two, join you and quit. Obviously, I chose the latter. So I just followed Shadowmere's tracks, I didn't know I'd find Lucien here. I came looking for you.'

'I see. But, for me?', asked Ysuran. 'Why?' Banus shrugged.

'You're the only person I wanted to stick with, I guess. You're a Dunmer. You're Lucien's Silencer. I don't have anyone else,' he finished with a sigh. He seemed very confused, to Ysuran at least.

'Either way, you could say I'm 'on your side'. If anyone attacks you or Lucien, I will fight them.'

'Thank you, Banus. That means a lot to me,' Ysuran said. He still couldn't be one hundred percent sure of Banus' honesty, but he gratefully accepted his offer.

'But what will you do now? With your life, I mean,' Ysuran asked.

'I haven't thought about it. I suppose only time will tell, Brother- er, if I can still call you 'Brother'...'

'Hm. I see,' said Ysuran, lacking anything better to say.

Moments later, Banus yawned and rose from his spot, stretching his arms.

'Well, my friend, I'm off to bed. Damn tired,' he said.

'All right.' Ysuran gestured to a far corner in the room. 'You can sleep in the bedroll over there.'

Banus nodded and thanked him. After that, all was quiet, and Ysuran sat on the floor alone. It didn't take long for him to become restless.

_I'm bored, _he complained to himself. He didn't feel like sleeping, but there was nothing he particularly wanted to do, either. So he practised a few Mysticism spells to pass the time, but then remembered a newly acquired power of his. He smiled mischievously, glad he'd visited the Shivering Isles.

He tried to summon Haskill, but to his chagrin, he didn't appear.

_Damn it...I can't summon him outside of the Isles, _he remembered.

Ysuran groaned. When he needed him the most, he couldn't be there. How ironic.

He tried again and again to summon him, hoping that maybe -just maybe- Haskill might heed his call and show up. Somehow...

Miraculously, though, after the umpteeth time, Haskill's tall, black-clad form appeared before Ysuran.

'By Sithis! Finally!' Ysuran yelled, throwing up his hands in exasperation. Haskill seemed slightly bothered, but was his usual, expressionless self in seconds.

'It seems that my Lord has, for some reason, allowed me to appear here,' he said. 'How..._gratuitous_ of Him.'

'It's because he likes me,' Ysuran replied, smiling again.

'Don't flatter yourself. My Lord simply willed it to happen, because it pleased Him to do so; although I doubt that you could even remotely comprehend the power He possesses.' Ysuran chuckled at Haskill's ever-constant condescension. Others would detest it; he found it funny.

'Nevermind, Haskill. I wanted to ask you a question regarding my _current endeavor,_' he said with a mock accent.

'Oh. How glib of you. I don't appreciate your blatant attempt to imitate me-' he sighed wearily- 'but go right ahead.'

'Ha! Okay. See, I need to track down this bastard of a Breton -he's given me a lot of trouble, to put it charitably- but he could be anywhere. Can you tell me where I should look?'

'Ah, I see,' the other said. 'I will give you this clue, then: Within the central city, there lies a place where lightest and darkest cross paths, but the darkest of them all will soon find its way to you. Then will you find the man you seek. Act on that knowledge wisely; and use your brain, if you have one, to _think _on it.'

Ysuran didn't like riddles much, but appreciated the fact that Haskill was able to help at all.

'I will, Haskill. Thank you for your wisdom.'

'Oh, _no_. No need to thank me, I had a ball, I can assure you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to my duties; the new arrivals won't go mad _all_ by themselves.' With that, a puff of black smoke engulfed him, and he disappeared. Haskill could never know just how funny he really was, Ysuran thought.

'Within the central city, there lies a place where lightest and darkest cross paths, but the darkest of them all will soon find its way to you...' he repeated to himself.

The only part he could decipher at the moment was the first; obviously, it referred to the Imperial City. So he was in the Imperial City? He pondered over the other two parts; he had the feeling he had gotten it for a moment, but then realized a hole in his logic and dismissed the idea. With every moment of racking his brain, he became more and more irritated. Finally, he gave up and yelled:

'Where in Oblivion do the light and dark cross paths?' He covered his mouth then, remembering a sleeping Banus in the corner, but it was too late; he was already sitting up in his bed, staring at Ysuran.

'...Do you...ah, need help with something?', he asked sheepishly.

'No, no. No,' he replied. 'I've just got, uh, a lot on my mind. Sorry to have woken you. Go on, get back to sleep.'

Banus gave him a final look of weariness, but did as he was told and dozed off.

'Gods,' he whispered, 'either I'm terribly stupid or Haskill is a genius.' He wanted to believe the latter...but he had his doubts.

He mustered all his thoughts, trying to piece together even a slightly plausible answer to the riddle. Then he wondered: _What would Lucien think?_

And very suddenly, as if on command, a frantic LaChance barged through the front door with utmost speed. He advanced toward his Silencer and gripped his shoulders.

'You're coming with me. Right now.'

The outburst woke Banus yet again, who was clearly irritated.

'What?', Ysuran asked, bemused. 'Where? Have you found something?'

'Indeed I have!', he replied. 'Bellamont is in the Imperial City. I saw him speaking with Belisarius just outside the Market District. Now hurry, before we lose them!'

The Silencer's eyes widened. _Uncanny_, he thought.

'I'll go with you,' Banus blurted.

Lucien was about to protest, but Ysuran gave him a look that said _No, it's fine, he's with us._ The Imperial nodded knowingly and turned on his heels.

Knowing there was no time for any explanations, Ysuran raced out the cabin, dragging Banus along with him, and climbed onto Lucien's horse. Mostly, he was just happy to breathe fresh air, but the idea of finally getting that detestable leech was endlessly satisfying.

His thoughts drifted toward Haskill's riddle. It didn't need to be solved anymore, really, but the sights that surrounded him were decidedly more unstimulating.

_'Where lightest and darkest cross paths, but the darkest of them all will find its way to you...'_

Ysuran pursed his lips, and figured that the term _lightest and darkest_ could be referring to people... his eyebrows formed into frustrated knots. The highest and the lowest... the risen... the fallen. Servants of the Gods, and defiers of the Gods? Gods...Guards. And prisoners...The Prison District.

Oh.

_Of course. _

Ysuran kicked himself mentally; he should have been able to figure that out, at least. But the darkest of them all? Who was the dar-

_...Oh._

Murderers were awfully low on the light and dark scale, he figured. Especially life-long, remorseless murderers. So that's what Haskill meant?

_Why couldn't he just tell me Lucien would bring the news? _He thought with great exasperation. Haskill, Ysuran noticed, was unnecessarily cryptic, for some reason...

Before he knew it, they had reached the city.

Lucien signaled for him and Banus to dismount, casting Chameleon on himself and the other two as they did so. They rushed inside the Prison District just in time to see Mathieu and Belisarius approach the Imperial Legion Office.

'There they are,' Ysuran said.

'For Sithis' sake, be _quiet,_' Lucien scolded, whispering. He rummaged through his pocket, and pulled out a pink, translucent bottle. He took a sip from it, then passed it to Ysuran.

'Drink this,' he commanded. 'Banus, you, too. Quickly!'

Knowing not to question Lucien when he sounded so urgent, Ysuran drank from the bottle and instantly felt drained of his energy. He passed it to Banus, who drank with equal dissatisfaction.

'What in Oblivion is that sewage?' Ysuran asked Lucien, disliking the effects of the potion.

'Tch. It's not _sewage_. It's a serum to weaken your life energy. It prevents any life detection spells from picking up your presence, due to the drastic decrease in your pulse. I brewed it a little while ago,' he said, a hint of smugness in his voice.

'I didn't know such a thing existed.' Banus frowned. 'But isn't that dangerous?'

'It can be, if you experience sudden shock. But you need to make sure that doesn't happen. So be aware. Be vigilant.'

The two Dunmer nodded and followed Lucien.

They shadowed their target's every move, stealthy, enveloped in the night's forgiving blackness. Ysuran saw Mathieu and -Belisarius, he supposed- confront a few guards, and was a bit surprised as the two proceeded to slash their throats. He watched, feeling one half disgusted, the other half a sort of sick pleasure.

Seeing Mathieu finally enter the Legion Offices, Ysuran got up to follow, but Lucien pushed him down into a patch of grass.

'Ow,' he complained.

'Don't follow them inside. We will wait here,' he said.

'But why not just confront him?'

'Just do as I say, Silencer.' Ysuran grunted, but obeyed. Banus shifted uncomfortably in his spot, glancing at his kinsman for but a moment, then directed his full attention toward the now closed door of the office.

And so they waited.

* * *

'Here we are, my Brother.'

_Yes..._

It was very dark outside when Mathieu and Belisarius reached the Legion Compound. The trip there was fairly smooth, though some of the guards were quite a hindrance - saying things like, 'this is a restricted area', or 'no civilians allowed at this hour'. But they were able to...negotiate with them. Three of them lay sprawled on the ground, blood splattered all over their necks, and the two assassins knew that it would only be a matter of time before the other guards noticed. They made haste.

'Are you sure the list is kept here? It seems a bit too...conspicuous,' Belisarius said.

'It goes to show how sloppy the Imperial Guard is,' Mathieu replied with a snort. 'But...yes, I am sure.'

The other chuckled, and proceeded to pick the lock. His pick broke a couple of times, but the third try was successful. He opened the door carefully, and the two of them entered, the light from the moon above gradating into shadow.

_We're getting so close. _

It was even darker in the office, the only light coming through a small window in the back of the room. Detect Life told Mathieu that he and his companion were the only ones there.

_Perfect..._

'Mathieu, some light, if you will.'

'Ah- yes, of course...' He whispered the word 'lucius' -which, to his displeasure, reminded him of that bloody LaChance- and a sizeable circle of green light enclosed the two. Belisarius nodded in thanks and continued towards the desk.

_Oh, oh...Mother, I can hardly wait!_

Belisarius searched each drawer quickly yet efficiently, eager to exit the place, but found nothing except many blank sheets of parchment and a severed finger... ah - Adamus Phillida's finger. The arse totally deserved it, he thought, but then focused on retrieving the document. Once more, he rummaged through the drawers, to no avail. He turned to Mathieu, confused, but barely uttered a syllable before he felt a sharp, although not-quite-sensible pain pierce his chest, the force of the blow making him fall onto his back. His eyes became watery, and dark clouds of Gods knows what appeared in his peripheral vision. Blood rose up his oesophagus and into his mouth, where it tasted sweet. Rusty. Unmistakably _blood_. Fear gripped him - his end was approaching. It was over. He knew it, and Mathieu's barbarian look of insanity only intensified this feeling. He leaned over Belisarius, grinning like a wolf might.

'M...Ma-!'

'_Killkillkillkilldiediedie,_' he whispered maniacally as he repeatedly plunged his dagger again and again and again into various places on Belisarius' body. With each stab it felt like another hundred years of pain, but Belisarius did not scream. He could not. Mathieu had torn up his throat. It burned; oh, like the fires of Oblivion it burned agonizingly. Everywhere. He somehow felt hot and cold at the same time, both shocked and unsurprised...a state of horrific ambivalence...

It seemed like hours before Mathieu finally stopped. The clatter of his dagger on the floor rang in Belisarius' ears, clear as day. Belisarius could feel Mathieu's shaky breath on his face; toxic. He watched with great difficulty as his former Brother pocketed his dagger, covered in blood and sinew and who knows what else, smiling down on him.

'_Mathieu..._Y-you are_..._' He whispered, or at least, attempted to.

'Yes, my friend,' Mathieu replied, a look of sick excitement gleaming in his eyes. 'I am.' He turned on his heels and left the room, closing the door with a _clak, _like a confirmation of his impending doom.

The sheer anguish of each individual cut made Belisarius want to bite his tongue off. His eyes had become totally obscured by the strange blackness clouding his pupils, although his conscience remained intact.

_I...he was right...Ysuran was right...The traitor lives...Sithis, spare us..._

He felt the water coating his eyes begin to roll down his face, merging with the pooling blood at the base of his head. His breathing, raspy and forced, slowed down overtime. The pain all over his body now seemed both dull and excruciating... and distant. A sudden awareness befell him, that being of his loneliness – and he panicked.

_No! I cannot, not alone...Arquen, Banus...Lucien, please...I don't want to die here, I don't want...I want..._

And he died, his soul drifting off into the Void.

* * *

When Mathieu emerged from the office, alone, the three hooded men looked at each other.

'...Belisarius,' Banus whispered. 'Where is Belisarius?'

Ysuran's face was very grim. They all knew what had become of Belisarius, but they daren't say the words.

'The bastard,' Lucien spat. 'The damn_ bastard!_'

'What do we do?' Banus asked.

'Banus,' he sighed, 'you get inside the office. Confirm that Belisarius is actually dead. Silencer, you'll wait here as my backup. I will-'

'No,' Ysuran interrupted with a fury that surprised even himself. '_I'll_ do it. I'll fucking kill him.' He could feel his rage pulsating within his veins, just waiting to be unleashed upon that sorry son of a...

The Imperial stared at him with thoughtful eyes. He glanced over to Mathieu for a split second, then looked at Ysuran again.

'You want to dispose of him, then, Silencer?'

He didn't answer. The look in his eye said all that needed to be said; Lucien smirked, and said:

'_Go_.'

He went.


End file.
